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Cass had the worse headache. She had been staring at her computer screen for far too long and her eyes needed a break. She picked up her wallet and let a coworker know she was heading to lunch a bit early. Cass was hoping the fresh air and food in her stomach would help. Not really being in the mood for anything in particular she walked downtown glancing into shop windows to see if anything peaked her interest.
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“ ―― in my defense . . . the moon was full and i was left unsupervised. “
CALLOUSED FINGERS pluck at the strings of the guitar that occupies his lap. It’s the same rhythm he learned ages ago, when this land wasn’t even thought of yet. The memory is warm, it’s touched by his mother, a familiar feeling only where she is involved. She’d taught him to play it back then, and parts of him will always wonder what other things he’d been cheated out of when she died. That interrupts his smile, wiping it from his face, before looking up. The crackling of branches and gravel under feet tells him, along with smell, that someone else is there. “Has subtlety ever been your strong suit?”
The more they continued to speak, the more he was sure they were the embodiment of a walking, talking headache. The thought had been the only one occupying head space for what felt like forever. Eventually, what little patience that he possessed had run out. There was a moment pause, before hand snatched glasses off his face. The free hand rubbed at temples, only to come up short on composure anyway.
“Whatever it is that you’re trying to get at, you sound like you missed too Rosetta stone’s to fucking articulate it correctly. You have the next five seconds to either spit that shit out, or get the fuck out. I would suggest the latter, personally.”
There was something enticing about the bright lights in the city. The neon signs, the colors that illuminated the streets at night. It was a curiosity she hadn’t really gotten to delve into in her life before now. An appreciation she didn’t allow herself. But, staring up at the colors on the sign, Naomi couldn’t help the little smile that came at the sensation.
The song that played in her head had been one she’d hummed time and time again, an old lullaby she used to know, and while she could only sing broken bits and pieces, it was still there. Even now, playing it’s same, battered tune as she swayed where she stood.
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“All I’m saying is I don’t really get why we need sponsors! Why they don’t just trust us to be here without calling us rescues. Even if I was rescued, why should someone have to vouch for me just for me to stay here. And plus that, why do I have to give them my memories. It’s so controlling.” Catarina dropped her head into her hands, shaking it as she stared at the table. “It’s not like I wanna leave, but the requirements to stay just don’t seem worth it.”
Boredom had a way of birthing chaos, and when it came to Wattson, she was a prime example of someone who shouldn’t be bored. Her eyes flicked, attention bouncing from the collection of passing faces - up to the building tops and sky above her. Faint, thin lines of white started to spread over her ear and up her fingers.
She had an itch, a need to cure the static electricity that seemed to always follow her.
When her attention fell from the sky, the last thing she had expected was to find someone standing so close to her. With a small yip, that little bit of pent up static seemed to explode with the start, giving her a tiny shock and them a quick flash of white. Assuming, however, they weren’t touching her, they were safe from the pang that zipped through her veins.
“Che palle!“ Native tongue slipped as easily as the curse itself as she pushed a bit of hair back from her face, trying to smooth what was standing on end. Wattson, though, let out a small laugh. “You always walk so quietly?”
Dozing lazily on the sand, Juniper was content to let the day pass him by. As he was just biding his time until he was kicked out of the town, putting any effort into interacting with the other residents seemed pointless.
Someone, however, seemed to feel differently, as a dark shadow soon blocked out the sun, drawing a petulant whine from the siren.
“Noooo, go ‘way...” he slurs, from sleep or residual alcohol in his system, it is unclear.
